Losing My Mind
by LadySilvermist
Summary: Before Nny, there was Johnny C., 17y.o. in foster care with one friend to his name. Enter Carrie, a bubbly pink haired girl fresh from Georgia who dared to befreind a weird, short, thin artist with cool boots. But Carrie is not who she seems and over 2 days, Johnny warps from a strange kid to a maniac. Follow our narrator, Gorel, as he shows you Nnys mental collapse. pre-comic. R
1. I Don't Support The Team

"STOP IT!" Johnny screeched as he was thrown back and forth. "You better cut it the FUCK OUT!"

The football players just laughed. "What are you gonna do about it, faggot? Huh?" Their taunts rang in his ears as they pushed him from player to player. He clutched his binder tight to his chest, grinding his teeth as one of them missed catching him (probably on purpose) and he hit the wall. He slid down the wall as the team walked off. "Wacky looking bitch," one of them commented. Johnny groaned and forced himself up off the ground. Just another day at Survival High.

"I fucking HATE that word," Johnny growled as he headed towards the unisex bathroom. Fuck 3rd block, it could wait. It was just gym class. Not like he would need it to succeed. He walked through the swinging double-doors into the bathroom and shut himself into the handicapped stall. He sat on the floor, his back to the wall, and cracked open his binder. Inside were crisp, white sheets of paper, begging to be filled with the spawn of Johnnys beautifully darkened mind. He took out a gel-pen and started sketching a dream he'd had the night before, of a tall man with goat horns standing before a ruined city.

_By now, you are probably very confused. Well, allow me to clarify some things. My name is Gorel, and I will be your narrator. Don't worry, I don't deviate from the story often. The young man mentioned above is Johnny C. Just C, and nothing more. Johnny is a high school senior. He's 17, in foster care, and not very well liked. In fact, almost everyone hates him. There's no real reason for it, it's the same old story: the popular kids don't like him, so the wannabes decide that THEY don't like him, which in turn fuels the hate of the rest of the school, which fuels the popular kids, ect. Johnny is short, roughly 5'2'', and very thin. Like 'skinny-jeans-are-roomy' type thin. He isn't very muscular, by which I mean he seems to be nothing more than skin and bone, and his face is smoother than a powdered baby butt, not a hint of stubble anywhere. His bright green eyes peek out from pale skin under a messy mop of jet black hair, which doesn't quite reach the collar of his signature striped, long sleeved, black-and-white shirt. His black skinny jeans hang a bit loose on his thin frame, and he wears a pair of cloven, steel-toed boots that reach his knees. More often than not, Johnny has on a pair of thin black gloves. His foster 'parents' are germophobic, so he is required to wear gloves at all times to "minimize the chance of getting us sick, you filthy little walking petri-dish," as his fosters so nicely put it. Now, if you would be so kind as to direct your attention back to our young artist…_

Johnny was in the zone, his pupils as highly dilated as those of a junkie who has just gotten a fix. His hands were steady and quick, and after 15 minutes, his sketch had become a black-and-white work of art.

"Gruuuuuh…" Johnny groaned and stretched, his sketch finished. He closed his eyes and waited five minutes, then peeked at his drawing again. He smiled when he found it really was as good as he had thought when he finished it. "I have earned a treat!" he announced to himself. He reached into his little black backpack and pulled out a canned drink. "Mmmm, Cherry Fizz Whiz."

Johnny guzzled the whole can in under a minute, and then pulled a CD player out of his backpack. He rifled through his CDs until he found what he was looking for: Classical Composers Volume 4. He popped it in and skipped straight to 'Ode to Joy'. He leaned back against the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him, one drawn up to his chest, the CD player on the floor next to him. He smiled as the music pumped out of his headphones and into his ears, filling his brain with beautiful notes.

"Well, he ain't in the gym, where else is he gonna be?" Johnny paused his music as the familiar sound of a deep southern drawl crept around his earphones. He grinned and stood.

"Uh! Carriiiiieeee, I don't wanna look for your friiiieeeend, let's go back to the gym, I wanna talk to Deriiiiick!" Johnnys smile soured. Fuck, she brought Dina with her.

"Shush your whinin' Dina. Yoooohooooo! Anybody here?" Carrie called.

"Indeed there is," Johnny said, gripping the top of the stall door and hoisting himself up to perch on it. "Hi Carrie!" Johnny grinned at the sight of his friend. She was slightly shorter than him, around 5' even, and slightly husky. She wore her short hair in a spiky neon pink pixie cut that contrasted well with her cerulean blue eyes, and dressed like the lead singer of The Rasmus, her current favorite band. She was a relatively new student, having moved to town 5 months back from Georgia.

"Ah, the Tiny Tortured Artist, he lives!" Carrie laughed as she looked up at him. "Have you been here all block? You know Mrs. Porkgut is pissed that you didn't show up for gym."

"You speak as though you expect me to care," Johnny quipped, hopping down from the top of the door, landing with a cat-like grace. "And who are you calling tiny? Last time I checked, I still had two inches on you."

"Yeah, but I have several pounds on you," Carrie replied happily, "therefore, you're still tiny."

"Gasp! Superior logic! My one weakness," Johnny joked. Hearing a huff, he turned to look at Dina, who was leaning against a wall looking irritated, her dishwater blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail reminding Johnny of cheerleaders. "Greetings, O Discontented One," He said sarcastically.

"What the hell does that mean?" She said shrilly, planting her hands on her hips.

Carrie rolled her eyes. "He was makin' a joke, Dina. Calm your tits." She turned back to Johnny. "Don't mind her, she's pissy because I brought her along with me to look for you and she wanted to talk to Deeeeeerrrrriiiiiiiick," Carrie wrinkled her nose as she drew Dericks name out, mimicking her bitchy friend.

"She's welcome to leave if she doesn't enjoy my company," Johnny replied.

"Oh, really? Good. Bye," Dina snarked, flouncing out the door.

"I will never understand why you choose to keep company with such a snarky and distasteful girl," Johnny said, leaning against the wall.

"You have obviously never tasted her homemade fudge," Carrie giggled. "No, she has good qualities. They're just thickly wrapped in a layer of superficial bitchiness, bullshit and lipstick."

"Obviously," Johnny grunted.

"So, why is my favorite starving artist hiding out in the bathroom today?" Carrie poked Johnny in the ribs playfully, making him squirm a bit and loose an involuntary squeak. "Spill it young'un."

"Kurt and his gang," Johnny growled angrily. "Same reason I'm always in this dingy, filthy room."

Carrie glared darkly at the door, as if Kurt and the rest of the team might be on the other side of it. "Details please?"

Johnny sighed. "The moron squad was selling weed in the hallway. They tried to sell me some, and I said I didn't want to buy any. Kurt said 'C'mon, all the money goes to support the team. You DO support the team, right?'. I made the mistake of allowing myself to respond with 'No, in the first place, I don't support the team, and furthermore, I don't use drugs'." Johnny looked at the floor, his face colored with shame and anger. "They called me a faggot and pushed me around."

Carrie made a sound akin to that of an angered pittbull. "Are you bruised?"

"I might have one on my shoulder," Johnny said. "Don't worry about it Carrie, I'm fine."

"They won't be," Carrie muttered darkly.

"What?"

"Nuthin'." Just then the bell rang for 4th Block. Johnny and Carrie both groaned.

"Math…"

_Oooooh, looky looky boys and girls, Johnny has a girlfriend. No, I kid. Maybe. At any rate, he's certainly not what you expected is he? Given his description, I'm sure you expected him to go on a rampage and slaughter people .Like some sort of… Homicidal Maniac? Hehehe. Keep those titties and moobs calmed, boys and girls. Our Johnny may not be a rampaging killer, but he is unstable. And as you've seen already, life throws our artist quite a few loops, and lately he's been thrown more than usual. It'll be a slow build, taking little things throughout the day, but don't you worry. His mind is a brittle branch. And we all know what happens to brittle branches in a fierce storm, now don't we?_


	2. Out For A Bite

Johnny slid farther down in his seat. He hated math class with a burning passion. He turned his head to the left to look at Carrie. She was leaned up on her desk, her head propped up by her hand as she stared blankly at the board. Without warning, Johnnys stomach growled. Loudly. He felt his face redden as it cut across the silence in the classroom, causing the other kids to giggle. He laid his head down on his desk.

_**Oh, great. How much longer until they serve us that excuse for lunch? I'm so hungry, I need sustenance! I despise math so fucking much…I wonder if math homework is edible…**_The sounds of incessant tapping caused him to look up. Carrie was looking at him, and when he raised his head, she held up her notebook.

Printed in bold letters on one of the sheets was a question. 'Hungry?'

Johnny nodded and Carrie set the notebook down and scribbled on the page for a minute. When she set it back up for him to look at, there was a cute little sketch of him as a tiny, adorable zombie, munching on a cheerleaders head. A bubble over his head read "The Tiny Starving Zombie Artist craves your headmeats!", and a small arrow pointed to the cheerleader, with text reading 'silly TSZA, there's no headmeats in there!'.

Johnny giggled and Carrie flashed her trademark grin. She scribbled on the paper again, and held it up for Johnny to read. 'want me to get us out of here?'

Johnny pulled out a sheaf of paper and scribbled back 'if you could, that would be highly appreciated. I despise this class, you know.'

'think you could carry me if I happened to have and accident?'

'I suppose I could, I am in truth a great deal stronger than appearance would suggest…but why would you have an accident, carrie?'

'watch and learn, Lovely, watch and learn.'

Carrie shot bolt upright in her desk, then jumped out into the aisle between rows. "I hunger," She growled darkly, "FOR ASSMEATS!" She made a scrunching motion with her hands, then gasped dramatically. "Alas!" she yelped. "I die!" Carrie swooned, then crumpled to the floor.

The teacher, who had been writing problems on the board, turned to stare dully at Carrie. "Does anyone know her name?" he droned.

"Her name is Carrie," Johnny said, staring at her with slight concern.

"Oh good. You get to carry her to the nurses office." The class snickered at this.

"Skinny little faggot probably can't even lift his backpack," someone jeered. Johnny felt his face flame with intense anger. He pulled his backpack on and walked over to Carrie. He swept her things into her purse, and then threw her over his shoulder. He grabbed her bag and walked out of the room.

Once they were out of site of the door, Carrie giggled wildly. "Alright, it worked! You can set me down now," She added.

"That was certainly something," Johnny remarked as he set Carrie on her feet.

"Did you expect anything less than level awesome?" Carrie asked, arching her eyebrow.

"Not at all," Johnny grinned. "I was simply ill prepared for…that back there."

"Meh, that was nothin'." Carrie shrugged, taking her purse from Johnny. "You need to see me when I don't want to do anything in gym. Speaking of gym, which you left me alone in AGAIN, I had a strenuous workout in there today and have earned something greasy, fried or glazed. Maybe all three at once."

Johnny grimaced at his friends taste in food. "You are going to suffer a massive cardiac infarction before you turn thirty."

"Live fast, love hard, die young." Johnny smiled at Carries philosophy. "So, where do you wanna go for lunch?"

"What?" Johnny looked at her.

"I said, where do you want to go for lunch? My car is out in the lot, I have a metric fuckload of CDs, there's forty-eight dollars burning a hole in my back pocket and I want to gorge myself on something un-healthy."

"We can't leave campus! We will get in trouble! Do you KNOW what they use for disciplinary action in this school?" Johnny yelped, horrified.

"Not a clue." Carrie pointed to the outer doors. "But I know how to get to Taco Hell from here."

"Carrie, they will suspend us from the rafters by our wrists and put rats in our shoes!" Johnny panicked slightly. "If they damage my wrists I'll never paint again! Do you know what would happen if I couldn't paint?!"

"Whoa." Carrie put her hands on either side of Johnnys face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "That absolutely will not happen. Trust me. I have a certain…understanding…with the principal. We pretty much have a free pass. At worst we will get a one-time detention."

Johnny blinked and calmed visibly. "Oh. Ok, well that's better, I guess. What kind of understanding do you have with our principal?"

Something dark seemed to flash behind Carries eyes. "Don't worry about it."

**MEANWHILE: In his office, the dark, thick, jagged 'P'-shaped scar running the length of the principals torso twinged, causing him to stiffen in fear. He looked up at the door, assuring himself it was triple locked. He calmed down, reminding himself that she couldn't pick all three locks before he could escape, and besides, she couldn't have any business with him. He had kept his hands to himself for 4 months, 3 weeks and 6 days now.**

_Oh, dear, boys and girls. It seems to me that young Carrie isn't quite what she appears. Hehehe. Oh, what's that? I said I wouldn't interrupt often? Yes well…Perhaps I am a liar. Hehehehehe. _

BACK WITH OUR HERO…SORT OF: Johnny took a deep breath. "Alright, if you are absolutely certain that nothing bad will happen, I guess I will consent to going to Taco Hell."

"Yes!" Carrie exclaimed, fist pumping. "Double Nacho Supreme time!"

The pair ran out to the parking lot, heading for Carries black Volkswagen PT Cruiser. Carrie hit the unlock button on her electronic keychain. "You wanna drive or should I?"

"Well, considering the fact that it's your vehicle, I suppose you should drive," Johnny said, climbing into the passanger seat. Carrie grinned as she got behind the wheel.

"Big mistake, Tiny Artist," She quipped, as she started the car.

"Why is that?" Johnny said nervously, locking on his seatbelt.

Carries grin took on a full-blown Joker look. "Driver controls the speed and the radio."

Fifteen minutes later, a very green and visibly shaken Johnny spilled out onto the Taco Hells parking lot. Carrie came around to his side, looking concerned. "You ok?"

Johnnys eyes were huge. "We hit a crow, while going ninety miles per hour in a forty miles per hour zone, while skipping school, and listening to Nickleback at full volume. Do I look ok to you?"

Carrie helped him up off the blacktop. "I'll be slower on the way back, ok? I promise to go under the speed limit the whole way."

"…Can we also listen to Mozart?"

"No. I still control the radio."

"Ok." Johnny brushed off the dirt from the blacktop, and he and Carrie walked inside and placed their orders. The girl at the counter sneered at Carrie.

"Uh-huh, are you SURE you want all that food?" The counter-girl smirked. Carries face looked like a thundercloud, but a smile twisted her lips.

"Positive."

The counter-girl just smirked more. "Fatty," She chuffed as she turned around, pretending to try and play off her comment as a cough. "We'll call your number when your food is ready."

Johnny had a fleeting thought. _**I could cut that smirk right off your face.**_ Johnny shook his head slightly. **Brain, what the hell was that?** Johnny shuddered. It had kind of felt for a minute like something was going to answer…no, that was silly.

"C'mon," Carrie said, nudging him out of his thoughts. "Let's go pick a seat."

Johnny noticed that Carries mood had darkened quite a bit. "Carrie? Are you feeling ok?"

Carrie had been walking ahead of Johnny. Now she stopped and stiffened. "I don't like rude people." Her voice was dark and angry, nothing like the Carrie Johnny knew. "If you don't have anything nice to say, maybe you shouldn't have a mouth to say it with."

Johnnys eyes widened, but as soon as it had come, the dark mood seemed to recede. "C'mon, we need to find a table," she said, her whole self back to the sparkly punk she had always been. Still, Johnny was worried. He'd never seen that…well, darkness, in her before.

They grabbed a table and sat to wait, and Carrie stared at Johnny thoughtfully. "What are you doing?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

"Just thinkin'," she said. "I'm wondering why you've never shown me any of your artwork, actually."

Johnny reddened, clearly embarrassed by this sudden random change of topic. "Well, its…art is a personal thing. I mean, if someone wants to see it, and you WANT them to see it, then it's fine, but you don't just flash it around like some stupid accessory, its…art is like a piece of your soul. You don't bear your soul for just anyone, it might become soiled and dirty."

"Hmmm." Carrie looked at him for a few more minutes. "If I told you I wanted to see your art, would you let me?"

Johnny blushed even more, dipping his head towards the table. He wasn't going to tell her, but he had imagined showing her his artwork before. In his mind, her reaction were sometimes awe, and sometimes shock, and even the occasional "Oh my God, Johnny…this is amazing…", but there was a reaction he was afraid of. Johnnys drawings and paintings were dark and twisted, and he was terrified that her reaction would be one of disgust and disapproval.

"Johnny?" he snapped out of his thoughts to find Carrie still looking at him.

"I…uh…" Johnny had no idea how to respond. Torn between hope and terror, he couldn't decide to say either yes or no. So, he took a leap of faith. "Yes."

Carrie smiled. "When?"

"I um…I can slip away from The Home at around midnight. If you could be there to pick me up, I'll bring some of my drawings with me…" Johnny said slowly.

"Ok Johnny. Hey, no need to be nervous, man," Carrie said soothingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you or anything. If you bear your soul, I'm gonna bask in the glow, not look for flaws." Johnny flushed a shade darker, thinking about her huddled over his drawings and smiling with delight.

"119, your order is ready!"

"Oh, that's us," Carrie said, snapping Johnny out of his thoughts.

"I'll go and get it," Johnny said. He didn't want Carrie anywhere near that rude bitch at the counter.

Johnny got to the counter and the girl turned around, holding his and Carries food. "Where's that fat girl you came in with, handsome?" She said, popping her chewing gum.

Johnny felt bile rise in his throat. _She's disgusting…not even fit to be called human…vermin shouldn't work along-side people, vermin should be exterminated_, whispered a voice in the dark corners of his mind. He pushed the thought away. **What is wrong with me today?** He wondered. "Her name is Carrie," He said darkly, taking their food. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't call her names. You don't even know us."

"I'd like to know you," she said, bending forward so her cleavage spilled over top of her shirt a bit. Johnny recoiled, launching himself away from the counter. He spun on his heel and walked away, his boots clicking a staccato rhythm on the floor as he marched stiff-legged back to his and Carries table.

"What's wrong, Johnny?" Carrie asked as he sat down stiffly.

"The counter-bitch insulted you and then had the audacity to flirt with me and expose part of her cleavage." Johnny said curtly. He growled softly. He was angry, no doubt about it.

"It's ok, Johnny," Carrie said soothingly. "We just won't eat here anymore, ok?"

Johnny hands flexed, curling into fists and then relaxing. "That's not good enough. She should have to apologize for her actions." His eyes flashed, dark and angry.

Carrie reached across the table, resting her hand on Johnnys. "Don't worry about it," she said, her voice soft and soothing on his rustled nerves. "I'll talk to the manager, ok?" She smiled at him, and it calmed him somewhat. "Why don't you take our food and head on out to the car? I'll meet you in just a minute."

Johnny nodded and gathered up their food, walking past the counter and out the door briskly. He climbed into the passenger side door and sat with his feet up on the dash. After about fifteen minutes, Carrie came out, looking satisfied. "Our meal was free and the girl has been summarily fired."

Johnny didn't hear a word of what she was saying. He was too busy staring at the swatch of blood on her face. "You…theres blood…" He said.

"Huh? Oh, fuck. Look, don't panic, I just had a nosebleed is all. I guess I didn't get it all cleaned off," she said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a Kleenex and, after locating the blood in the mirror, wiped all traces of it off and discarded the tissue.

Johnny tried to calm down, but something didn't feel right about it. Something felt really, really wrong. But Carrie just smiled at him, and he let the feeling dissipate.

_**Meanwhile, back in the restaurant: The counter-girl was UNDER the counter, cowering in pain and fear. The pink-haired girl had walked up to the counter and grabbed her, not two minutes after her friend had walked out the door. "H is for Harlot," she had hissed, and then proceeded to use a blade she had pulled out of her purse to carve an H deep into the girls chest. It was like it wasn't even happening, no one even seemed to notice. "Nice girls don't call mean names. Nice girls don't flash their breasts at nice boys." **_

Back out at the car, Carrie checked the clock in the dashboard. "20 minutes left to class. Worth it to go back?"

"No, definitely not. No point, really. What do you want to do until the clock strikes time to leave for home?" Carrie tapped her chin as she considered Johnnys question.

"How about that bluff that overlooks the town?" Carrie asked. Johnny smiled.

"That sounds like a fantastic idea."

_Well, well, kids. Did you see? Johnny seems to be having a few…technical difficulties. Hehehe. Isn't that what you were looking for? Yes, I do believe you were. I know, I know, "But Goooorel, he didn't dooooo anything! He just thought a couple of crazy thoughts!" well, excuse me. You knew when you asked me to take you on this little journey that things would be slow. Mental collapse takes time, you know. Until Johnny gets to where you want him to be, why not try enjoying Carrie? Oh, don't tell me. "She's not a murderer, she's not even as good as we want, and she just cuts letters into people! Waaaaah…" yes well, Johnny isn't out of control murderous either…yet. Hehehe. Come on, boys and girls. Savor this. You're lucky. Not many get to see the process of mental collapse at work, the way the most mundane things can chip away mental foundations. Now put a smile on that face and keep going. This next part is rather interesting…_


	3. No Rot On The Cliff

Nny and Carrie sat on the bluff in comfortable silence, overlooking their crooked little town. Nny thought that, from above, it wasn't so bad. It looked neat and orderly. _No traces of the rot up here, _that troublesome voice whispered.

**What are you talking about?** Nny thought at the voice. **Wait…no, no you're just a trick, a figment of my imagination. Go away. I'm not going to talk to you.**

_Not yet…_

"Hey…" the soft sound of Carries voice broke through his internal conversation. She was sitting on the hood of her PT Cruiser, arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting on her chest. "I have a question…"

"Okay." Nny turned around and leaned back against the railing. "Ask it then."

"Did you ever think, maybe, that while there are things that for the good of everyone you _have _to keep locked away, things you absolutely _can't_ tell people, there might be one person out there who really _should_ be told? Like…one person you shouldn't keep secrets from?" The whole time she was speaking, her suddenly sad cerulean eyes never wavered from the town below.

Johnny tapped a finger against his chin, thinking. "I suppose, for everyone, there is that one person whom can't be shut out. But by all rights that person should be the one you're in love with."

"But what if it's dangerous to love them? What if you are a dangerous person who will hurt them eventually with the things you do, even if it's not done to them?" Carries eyes switched up to look at Johnnys for just a moment, then she stared back out over the town.

Johnny hopped up onto the hood next to her. "Carrie, what's happening in your head right now? You have been acting so strangely today. It's really not at all like you." Suddenly, Carrie leaned over, resting against Johnny. He felt his face turn pink. Why was she doing this? Acting so odd, asking strange questions, wanting to see his artwork, his _soul_…

"It's just been a long day, Johnny." She said. "A really, really long day. Especially with that girl at the counter…" She trailed off.

"She really got to you, being scathing and inappropriate, did she?" Carrie was silent for a moment.

"…Yeah. She got to me." Carrie stared down at the town a little more. "It's so pretty from up here, isn't it? All neat and tidy. Everything in place."

"Carrie…Are you going to be alright?" Johnny asked, worried.

"Yeah, Nny. I'll be just fine."

"…Nny?"

"Yeah. Like Johnny, but short. You don't like it?"

"Actually, I like it very well. I was just surprised, normally you call me Tiny Artist as a nickname."

"Oh, I'll still call you that," Carrie smiled. "You are, after all, a Tiny Artist. I just also kind of like Nny."

"Oh. Well then, I guess I'm Nny," He chuckled.

"Yes you are," She said, smiling up at him. Her eyes had regained that sparkle, and Johnny…no, Nny, Nny was glad. He hated seeing her eyes full of sadness. Carrie jumped off the hood and unlocked her door. "We should probably get going, we're about ten minutes past time to be home," She said cheerfully.

Normally this would have sent Nny into a panic, but his fosters were working today and therefor would never have to know. Carrie kept her promise, driving under the speed limit, and even let Nny listen to 'Ode to Joy' on their way to his house. They arrived within eight minutes and Nny got out, slipping his CD back into his case.

"See you at midnight with your bits of soul, Tiny Artist," Carrie said quietly.

"Yeah," Nny responded, smiling. "Be there or be square, I believe the saying is?"

Carrie giggled. "Later, Nny," she said, shifting the car into gear. She pulled out and took off, leaving Nny in the driveway.

His head full of ideas for new drawings and wondering which ones he should take to show Carrie, Nny didn't hear the warning sounds of footsteps until it was too late. The smell of booze nearly made him choke, his heart seizing up as from behind him came a soft, feminine voice full of malice. "And just –hiccup- where exactly have you been, Jooooohnnyyyy?"

**Oh god, please no.**

_Aw, it looks like our dear, ahem, "Nny", heh, is falling for Carrie. And if we are reading the signs right, she's fallen for him. Or she could just be insane. Or both. Who could know? Oh right, I would, hehehe. Well, boys and girls, it would also seem one of Nnys fosters didn't make it in to work today. Let's hope Nny survives this encounter! I'm growing to like him. I know, I know! "Goooooooorrreeeeeelllllll, you promised this would be intrestiiiiiiiing!" Well, I found it very interesting. Carrie is mad, Nny is beginning to slide towards madness, they could be in love, and best of all we will get a glimpse of Nny _away_ from Carries re-assuring presence. Come now, children. Enjoy the ride!_


	4. Carries Dirty Little Secret

Johnny reeled as he was hit across the face, hard. "Where were you, Johnny? Huh? Out with some WHORE? Huh?" His foster mother screamed as she hit him again.

"Stop!" Nny screeched. "You're drunk!"

"And you're a fucking useless piece of shit! God, Jasper and I wish you would just die, we never wanted you as a foster son!" She hit him again, and the first of the tightly wound strings in Nnys mind snapped. He drew back and hit her, hard. He felt his hand make contact with her face, felt something shift and break under his knuckles. As his hand fell back to his side, he saw blood drip from her nose, falling on the floor. She stared at him blankly, her eyes clouded with drink and confusion.

"Go to your room." She turned and left him standing there, looking at his hand in horror.

_She deserved that, _whispered the voice in his head. _It was only a matter of time. If you hadn't fought back, it would have gotten worse._

Nny ignored the voice and crept into his room. He locked the door behind him, and began painting, furious brush strokes and the sound of rattling paints filling the rooms silence. When he finally finished, it was almost 10 o'clock, and he was panting as though he had run a mile. The canvas before him depicted his foster parents, their neck twisted and broken, their eyes burst and running, and he stood between them, a maniacal grin on his face. Nny stared at this hellish family portrait, feeling the strain on his mind. He felt like he would snap completely at any moment, until he remembered the plan for midnight.

**Carrie will be here. Carrie will come to see my art. **He smiled, even forgetting about his rapidly blackening eye. **Everything will be ok.**

The thought of Carrie was like a soothing balm on his wounded mind. Even with as odd as she was acting today, she was still his best friend, and a calming force. She never lost her cool, never blew up, and put up with all his oddness. And she was kind…and intelligent…funny…caring…pretty…

Nny shook his head. _**Stop it**__,_ he scolded himself. **Carrie probably doesn't have any feelings for you at all, other than best-friend type feelings. If she is still your friend after seeing all this insanity that you put onto canvas, **_**then**_** you can think about liking her. **

Nny went about putting away his paints, gathering the art he wanted to show Carrie, and cleaning his gloves of his foster mothers nose-blood. He then sat on his bed to wait.

The hours crawled by slowly. Nny lay on his back on his bed, tossing and turning. He read for a bit, and then listened to music. He felt his nerves start to jangle as 12 o'clock approached. ** What if she doesn't like my art? What if it freaks her out? What if she thinks it's poorly done? What if-**

He was interrupted by the sound of tapping at his window. He looked out, and there was Carrie, her grinning face mashed up against the window. It was a little creepy, but at the same time just hilarious. Nny crossed the room and opened the window. The moment there was enough room, Carrie popped her head in the window and grinned up at him. "Heeeeey, whats shakin' bacon?" She giggled. "So, where's that art you…" She trailed off, looking at his face. Something in the depths of her eyes shifted, and she slithered, snakelike, through his window and into his room. "Nny…" She said, her voice holding that dark edge he had heard earlier at the Taco Hell. "What happened to your face?"

His hand flew to his eye, brushing the puffy skin. "Nothing," he stuttered. She stepped closer and gently grasped his hand, pulling it away from his face. Her eyes were dark somehow, scary and intense. She stared at the puffy bruise surrounding his emerald colored eye.

"Please don't lie to me, Tiny Artist." Her voice sent shivers down his spine. "Now, tell me…What happened to your eye? Tell Carrie."

"I…I was late getting home…please, Mrs. Jero was drunk, she didn't know what she was doing!" Nny panicked at the bone-chilling look on Carries face. "Carrie, what are you going to do?" He said. Carrie remained silent and headed towards his bedroom door. "Carrie!"

"Stay here, Nny. For the love of god, stay here." She turned and went down the hallway. He heard his fostermothers voice say, "Who the hell are you? One of Johnnys whores?" followed by the sharp sound of a slap. He ran into his foster parents' bedroom just in time to see Carrie flick a knife open. His foster mom was laying on the bed, a red handprint across her face. Carrie had her right hand in a death grip, and as Nny watched, she pressed the tip of the knife to the back of his foster moms hand. "BP is for Bad Parent," Carrie hissed, and proceeded to carve the letters deep into the skin and muscle of Mrs. Jeros hand. "Good parents don't hit their children," She said over Mrs. Jeros screams. "Good parents are kind and gentle." She turned around, and saw Nny standing there. "Nny…you should have waited in the bedroom."

_**TWANG. **_ Another of the fragile threads in Nnys head pulled taunt and snapped, causing his eye to twitch. Carrie recognized that twitch. She had had it once too, right before she snapped completely. She pocketed her knife and laid a hand on Nnys shoulder. His eye twitched again. "Nny," Carrie whispered. He didn't respond. "Nny!" She shook him a little and he seemed to come back to himself. He looked at her, his eyes full of fear. Behind Carrie, his foster mother was still sobbing, clutching her bleeding hand. "Nny, its ok," Carrie whispered. Tears threatened to spill over as she realized Nny was afraid of her. "I'd never hurt you, Tiny Artist. Never. Let's…Let's go back to your room." Nny turned and headed shakily back to his room, Carrie following close behind.

Nny collapsed on his bed and covered his face with his hands. **This didn't happen. This is just a nightmare. Oh god, how will I ever explain this? Mr. Jero is going to kill me! He's going to beat me until I die this time, I know it, I won't be able to cover the bruises…**Nny heard rustling and looked up. Carrie had taken his overnight bag and his suitcases out of the closet and was packing his clothes into them, very carefully.

"What are you doing?" Carrie looked up at the sound of Nnys voice. He was staring at her, his eyes wide.

"Nny, you can't stay here. If she hit you once, she'll hit you again. If her husband knows she beats you, I assume he probably does too. And based on your reaction when I asked you what happened to your eye, they've beaten you before. I'm NOT going to just sit back and let this happen. You're comin' to live with me, at least for a while. I'll…" She paused for a moment, then struggled forward. "I'll understand if…after what you saw…the _darkness_ in me…you don't want to live with me. But I love you too much to let you stay here and get the livin' shit beat out of you by these neglectful wastes of flesh."

Nny felt his heart flutter when she said I love you, but it quickly calmed when he remembered to put it back into context. He stared at her, eyes huge with fear. His right eye twitched nervously. "But what will your parents think?" He asked. Her hands stilled, and she stared blankly at the shirt she was packing.

"A month ago…I caught my dad cheating on my mom. I carved an 'A' for adulterer on his chest. A scarlet letter, of sorts. Momma and Daddy kicked me out of the house. They pay rent on a house on the opposite side of town from themand I live there, all alone…sometimes Momma visits. She pretends not to notice I'm a little…crazy. They won't mind you livin' with me at all." Carrie resumed packing, but she looked sad. Nny got up to help her. They spent the next fifteen minutes packing his clothes, paints, art supplies, and art.

When they were finally done, Carrie picked up Nnys suitcases and walked out of his bedroom. He followed her, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder. As they were walking out, Nnys soon to be former foster mom walked out of her room. Carrie looked at her, her eyes tired and flat. "We're leavin'. We won't be back. Don't look for us. Don't wait for us. Don't come after Nny. Don't call the cops. If you do anythin' I've mentioned, there'll be consequences beyond your imagining." Mrs. Jero just stared. "DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME YOU SHITPILE?!"Carrie screamed. Nny jumped at her sudden anger. Mrs. Jero nodded vigorously, cowering. "Tell your husband the same thing I told you. God have mercy on your souls if you come after Nny, either of you."

Carrie walked out the door with Nny close behind. They strolled to her PT Cruiser and unlocked the doors, placing Nnys things in the back. They got in and Carrie started it up and off they sped, towards carries house.

_Oh, my my. Nny finally got a look under Carries surface. Well, how do you like that? Voices, Twitching…He's ALMOST the Johnny you came to see. One more thing, and he'll fall over the what you came for, isn't it? To see the Tiny Artist fall off the edge? Don't worry, my children. Gorel will deliver that shortly. Don't worry, I never tell a lie. Heheheh._


	5. Insomnia and Somniphobia

Nny and Carrie sat in silence until they pulled into her driveway. She lived in a ramshackle one-story house, with boarded over windows. The house number read 777. They parked in the driveway, and suddenly Carrie slammed her head forward onto the wheel. Nny stared in shock. "C…Carrie…?" he whispered. The only reply was quiet sniffles from her shaking frame. "Carrie…Carrie, don't cry!" Nny didn't know what to do. He reached out and put a hand on her back, trying to comfort her. She wailed loudly, like his hand had scorched her. Nny drew his hand back, eyes so wide they looked as though they might fall right out of their sockets.

She turned her head towards him, her face wet with tears. "I'm so sorry. I fucked it all up. There's somethin' wrong with me."

"No!" Nny yelped. "No, no there isn't! I mean, there is, but it's not that bad! I mean, you've never killed, right?"

"No, I've never killed…"

"Well, then, see? You aren't bad! Just confused! It's fine!"

Carrie sniffled. "Okay…"

They hauled Nnys things inside and set them down by the door. Carrie collapsed onto the couch and leaned back . "There's a bed in there," She said, pointing at a door off to the left. "You look exhausted, Tiny Artist." Nny nodded. He felt exhausted, but he wasn't about to sleep. He dropped down beside her on the couch.

"Um…You look tired too, why don't you take the bed?" Nny asked. Carrie sighed.

"Ready for another fun little secret from the dark side?" She asked wearily. Nny stiffened. There was MORE? He took a deep breath and steadied himself. **It's Carrie. No matter what, she's still Carrie. Her personality hasn't changed, she still cares about you. It's just another secret she's going to entrust you with.** He nodded and waited for her to tell him. She licked her thumbs, reached up and swiped them under her eyes. Her thumbs came away covered in makeup, and under her eyes were deep, dark circles. "Insomnia," she intoned listlessly.

Nny patted her shoulder. "I uh, have a secret similar to that. Somniphobia."

"The fear of sleep?"

"Yes. I still sleep, of course, I just really, really dislike it. The feeling of losing control, of being unable to stop your mind from slipping away from you, of being unable to distinguish between real and unreal…" He shuddered. He feared sleep worse than anything else.

Carrie sighed. "I wish I could sleep. Maybe if I could sleep at night, actually sleep, instead of just snatching minutes of sleep and maybe an hour or two during the daylight, maybe then I wouldn't be…like this. Maybe I'd still live with my parents, instead of in this creepy-ass house all by myself, carving letters into people." She leaned forward and ran her hands through her hair. She let out a puff of air, sounding like an irritated horse. "Well, hell, Nny. Ain't we a pair? The Somniphobic Artist and The Insomniac Madwoman." Nnys lips twitched upwards into a smile.

Suddenly, Carrie fell against him, snuggling close. Nny froze: no one had ever been this close to him before, unless they were beating him (or in one incident he had pressed very deep down, trying to touch him). He didn't know what to do. But Carrie didn't seem to require him to do anything; she just wanted him to let her lay against him. Since he was going to be living in her house, and technically he needed to thank her for rescuing him from that place of horror and abuse, he was more than happy to let her simply lay against him if that's what she wanted. He looked down at her. Her eyelids seemed to be getting heavy.

"Nny…" She grunted.

"Yes?"

"I'm exhausted. I think…I might actually sleep for once."

"That's good. You need to sleep."

"Yeah. I know. If I don't sleep, I could go crazy. Hahaha."  
Nny played with her hair absentmindedly. "Would you like to go lay on the bed?"

"Will you lay down with me?"

"…What?"

"I know you won't sleep, but I'll be honest, I'm feeling rather fragile, and it would be nice if you would lay down with me 'til I fall asleep, if it's not too much trouble."

"…Okay."

They walked to the bedroom, and Carrie climbed into the bed, Nny following after her. She curled up against it. At first, Nny was uncomfortable, but after a few minutes he got used to the feeling of being so close to another person. Even after Carrie had fallen asleep, Nny stayed. She was warm, and he liked the feeling of warmth from another human being. It was nice, especially since it was Carrie. The more Nny thought about, the more he realized it was pointless to deny it. He liked Carrie. He liked her a lot. Maybe he even loved her. And why shouldn't he? She had basically bore her soul to him today. The more he thought about it, the more right that statement felt. For him, it was showing artwork. For her, it was the telling of her secrets. And with that thought, the conversation on the cliff suddenly made sense. HE was the one she was talking about, HE was the one she couldn't keep secrets from, HE was the one that she thought she would hurt with her actions, HIM. The thought made him brave enough to slip an arm around her. She shifted slightly, but didn't wake up. Nny pressed close to her, burying his face in her mass of pink hair. He breathed deeply, smelling her shampoo, and for a few minutes he escaped harsh reality. For a few minutes she wasn't crazy, and his art wasn't twisted, and people weren't assholes. His foster parents weren't abusive because they didn't exist. For a moment, it was simply Nny, and Carrie, and a large, warm bed. Nothing more, no world beyond the door to the room. They were utterly alone in the universe, and it was perfect, or as close as perfect ever gets.

_Well, well, well. What have we got here, Kids? It seems Nny and Carrie are in L-O-V-E. Aw, they even moved in together! How sweet! They grow up so fast, don't they? I KNOW! "Waaaaaah, Gorel, Nobody is dead yet, how come, why doesn't Carrie kill someone, Waaaaaaaaaahhh…" BAH! Stop your whining. Nny only has one string left. One last hard shove will make him go over the edge. Cmon children. Tough it out. I promise, it won't take long._


	6. The Last Push

Nny woke with a start. **Oh god oh god where am i? am I awake or asleep I don't know oh shit!** Nny pinched himself hard on the thigh. The pain was clear and assured him he was awake. As the memories of the previous day slowly sunk through the layers of sleep fog, he relaxed. Ok, he was at Carries. After checking his watch, he turned to wake Carrie up. "Carrie?" He said. His eyes sprang wide as he came fully awake as though doused with cold water. Carrie wasn't there. Nny clambered out of the bed and scurried towards the door. He pulled the door open and looked over the Living room. Nothing. He was about to run outside when he heard the unmistakable sound of thumping from behind a door in the back of the room. He ran and opened the door, and was faced with a long flight of stairs. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then headed down the stairs. He soon found himself in a maze of rooms, each room with various scary looking machines and shackles and knives in them. He followed the thumping noise, and soon he found the room where it was coming from. He peeked inside.

Carrie stood in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. She was stomping her foot to the beat of some extremely loud music. Suddenly, the vocals kicked in.

The secret side of me, I never let you see  
I keep it caged but I can't control it  
So stay away from me, the beast is ugly  
I feel the rage and I just can't hold it

It's scratching on the walls, in the closet, in the halls  
It comes awake and I can't control it  
Hiding under the bed, in my body, in my head  
Why won't somebody come and save me from this, make it end?

The moment the Vocals started, Carries arm shot up over her head. She started pumping her fist, and jumping in place. Just barely, he could hear her screaming the lyrics underneath the overly-loud music. She threw her head back and screamed the lyrics even louder, still jumping and pumping her fist like she was at a concert. She did this for a solid three minutes, until the song ended. Then she stopped, arms hanging by her sides, panting. He saw that she didn't have on any makeup yet, so the big dark rings under her eyes were clearly visible. He walked into the room tentatively.

Carrie heard him enter and smiled at him tiredly. Her eyes were sparkly again though, and that put his mind at ease. "Hey, Tiny Artist, you're up!" She said. She stretched. "I hope I didn't wake you up with the music, I just needed to get the blood pumpin', yah know?"

"No, you didn't wake me," Nny responded, smiling slightly. "Um, I hate to impose, but could I perhaps get some breakfast?" he muttered as his stomach growled, the sound rumbling through the room.

"Oh, Nny, c'mon, you live here now! Duh you can get some breakfast. C'mon upstairs, I'll cook." She skipped out the door, and Nny followed her. When they got back upstairs, she made them each an omelet, and they sat on the couch to eat and watch Scumby.

When Nny finished his, he asked her a question that had been squiggling around at the back of his mind. "Carrie, um…what is the purpose of all those machines and contraptions and such downstairs?"

She froze up, fear flashing across her face. "The last owners were…Odd. Very odd. They had some…unusual hobbies, which required all the stuff down there. And it's not just that level, those rooms extend miles and miles underground, and spread and unfold under the whole town!"

Nny shuddered. That was a creepy thought, that you could be miles underground like that. _It would be perfect for murder and torture. That's what its for, after all. _

**Shut up, voice.**

_I shall do no such thing. And besides, my name isn't voice._

**Then what is it?**

_Gorel. Gore-el. Gorel. Got it?_

** Well what the hell are you?**

_Just a voice in your despised diseased headmeat. Or a demon. Maybe both. Hehehe. _

**You're definitely a snarky bastard.**

_Yes, that I am. _

"Nny?" Carries voice cut through his thoughts. "Hello?"

"Huh?" Nny said, turning to look at her. "I'm sorry, did you say something Carrie?"

"I asked if you were full," She laughed, smiling. "I still have omelet fixin's left if-" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. "That's odd…Don't worry, I'll get it." She hopped up off the couch and skipped to the door.

"Hello, may I help you?" She said, pulling the door open.

"Where is he?" Said the visitor. Nnys blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

"I'm sorry, who are you looking for?" Carries voice was deceptively sweet, but Nny saw her hunch slightly into a defensive posture.

"You know damn good and well who I'm here for," Jasper Jero replied. "My foster kid. Where. Is. He. Goddamnit." Nny began to shake.

Carrie looked up at the man before her. "Sir, I suggest you remove your ass from my property now."

"Or what," He sneered.

Carrie pulled her silver switchblade out of her pocket and flicked it open. "Or things are going to get extremely ugly. Nny belongs here now. Get. The fuck. Off. My. Property. Bitch. Yah dig?"

The next moment was a blur. Carrie flew back and hit the wall, a fist-print stamped on her face. She hit the wall and slumped against it, knocked out. Nny ran to her, screaming her name. He felt a fist in his hair and he was hauled to his feet. His foster father looked down at him. "Get your skinny faggot ass in the car, you wacky looking bitch."

**TWANG. **_Kill him._

Nny snatched up Carries knife and, with a laughter of psychotic abandon, rushed his foster father. He knocked him to the ground and held the knife to his throat. "You know," Nny said, grinning. "I really hate those words." He cut a deep line on Jaspers face. "Skinny faggot, for example." He stabbed the knife through jaspers cheek, a hand over his mouth to muffle the screams. "Just because I'm thin, I'm automatically a 'faggot'? And why would you want to insult a whole group of people for their differences from your society? That's just rude." He pulled the blade up, carving until Jaspers mouth spread all over his face. "And Wacky…now, of all the wonderful words in this world, why in the FUCK would you choose WACKY?! It's a nonsense word! It means fucking NOTHING!" Nny screamed angrily. "And, lastly, you never, ever, ever lay your hands on a woman who has done nothing at all to you, you FUCK!" Nny made one last pull on the knife, splitting Jaspers face into a huge deaths grin as he screamed. "Smile, you fucker!" Nny laughed, and plunged the knife into Jaspers chest.

When Jaspers struggles stopped, Nny yanked the knife out of his chest and ran over to Carrie. He dropped the knife beside her and shook her. "Carrie! Carrie, wake up! CARRIE!"

"Uhhhhh…" Carrie groaned as she came around. "What…What happen…" Her eyes grew wide as she saw Jasper Jero, dead on the floor. She saw the blood on herself and Nny, and her knife lying beside her.

"What have I done…" She whispered, horrified. Nny opened his mouth to tell her it wasn't her, that he had done it, but she held up a hand to silence him. She looked at Nny. "Nny…I love you," She whispered, and snatched the knife off the floor. He tried to stop her, but it was too late, she plunged the knife into her temple, through her skull. She fell back against the wall, blood trickling around the knife.

Nny screamed his love for her in a wail of wordless fury and anguish, into the echoing rooms of a silent and uncaring house.

_There you go, kiddos. Johnny the Highschool Senior became Johnny the Slightly Off became Johnny the Kinda Crazy became Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, all in two short days. Aren't you happy? Aw, don't look so sad, children.I know, I know, poor Carrie. It is unfortunate. But don't worry, theres still a tiny bit left to this story. You didn't think ol' Gorel, the first voice of Nny, would just leave you here with this mess, did you?_


	7. Dear Die-ary:

Dear Die-ary:

I rushed Carrie to the hospital after she put the knife in her head because I saw she was still breathing. She was in surgery for a long time, but they said the knife hadn't reached her brain. She was catatonic, though. They said whatever caused her to drive a knife through her skull also made her retreat into her mind. I brought her back home. She can live in the bedroom. I'll take good care of her.

(6 months later) Dear Die-ary,

Carrie hasn't improved much, but there's a bigger problem. There is a monster behind a wall in the house. I figured out blood calms it. I have to keep the wall wet, or it could get out and hurt Carrie! I swear to protect her, even if it means I have to kill people again. Speaking of, people are disgusting. I don't think I could bear to touch anyone but Carrie, I KNOW she is clean.

(1 year after the incident) Dear Die-ary,

Sometimes, Carrie smiles at me. You know I can't paint anymore, but when she smiles, and seems awake…I feel like maybe I could. If she ever wakes up, I'm going to show her my old paintings. I promised her I would, and I never did. I'll paint something new, too. I'll show her my soul, and she'll not search for its flaws, just like she promised.

(2 years after the incident) Dear Die-ary,

I went to Taco Hell today. I sat at the same table Carrie and I sat at that day, and some woman called me Wacky. Then everyone else picked it up. They just kept saying it. I killed them all with a spork. I'm extremely surprised I don't get caught with all the heinous crimes I commit.

(3 Years after the incident) Dear Die-ary,

I cried today while taking care of Carrie, and she reached out her hand. I swear, I heard her say "Tiny Artist." I asked a doctor I was holding in one of my rooms below about it. He said people in Carries condition often have brief periods of wakefulness. He said in some cases, if it lasts more than a minute, it can be a sign of recovery. I felt hope. I let the doctor go, I was so happy! He didn't get far though, he fell into a spike pit. It was nasty.

In the dark of night, in her room, exactly 3 years, 2 months, 6 days, and 12 hours after she went into a state of catatonia, Carries eyes snapped open. She smiled up at the ceiling, hopped out of the bed, and wobbled on thin and unsteady legs towards the door. Her hair had grown long and shaggy, its natural deep black color evident, the neon pink of so long ago still lingering at the tips. She opened the door and stepped out into the living room. She knew where Nny was, and what he was doing, but she didn't care. He was still her Nny, no amount of insanity could change that. Her eyes sparkled as she opened the basement door and called down the staircase. "Tiny Artist! Whatcha doooooin?"

In the dark at the bottom of the stairwell, tears of joy streamed down Nny's relieved face.


End file.
